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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065957">four slurred words</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/trees_so_thin/pseuds/trees_so_thin'>trees_so_thin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Adventure Zone (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Rewrite, Love Confessions, alcohol mention, idk bro this is just a simple little thing u know how it goes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:01:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,952</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/trees_so_thin/pseuds/trees_so_thin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>fitzroy takes a key. argo takes a drink. the firbolg takes argo upstairs.</p><p>this is how episode 17 should have gone</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>four slurred words</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>am i rewriting episode 17 just a little? yeah. dont worry the firbolg and argo can still be kidnapped by the pit fiend i just slotted this in here between that happening. this is the quickest ive ever written anything it is 2am goodnight</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Firbolg is racking his brains.<br/>
“Several Garys….I will list the Garys.”<br/>
Fitzroy sighs, not prepared to sit through his mountainous friend reeling off a potentially extremely long and slow list of every stone gargoyle that occupied the school in his attempt to remember any people he knows that could help them in their war efforts. “No, please don’t. Okay, we’re good. Thank you. Your list is fantastic.”<br/>
He takes one last sweep of the gradually emptying bar, and a glance out the window at the darkened sky, thankfully somewhat clear of the demon attacks and debris Barb had been mentioning, and decides that their conversation is over. “Um… yeah. Sounds like we got a pretty— pretty cool plan. I'm feelin‘ plum tuckered. So, I'm gonna, uh, retire, if you boys want to keep going, I’m not averse to you doing whatever you want, as long as you don’t wake me up when you try and go to bed, seeing as I assume we will all be squeezed into the singular quarters for the night. Goodnight!”<br/>
Putting his glass down on the table, Fitzroy excuses himself and quickly trots up the stairs, feeling in his pocket for the key Barb had given him, cursing his lack of forethought when he realises there’s only one key and the others will HAVE to wake him up when they come to bed because they won’t be able to get in, but too proud to go back down and rejoin the group. He’ll just have to deal with it when it happens. And besides, it isn’t always easy to sleep with the Firbolg’s loud breathing during the night, so he’ll try and get as good of a nap as he can before the big guy comes and disrupts it.<br/>
The room is small, and as drab as the rest of the tavern, but it’s clean, and there are two beds. Ample floor space for the Firbolg. Fitzroy dumps on the floor the pack he had taken with him from the centaur camp, and roots around in it for something to wear that wasn’t all bloodstained or crusty.<br/>
He doesn’t come up with much.<br/>
A raucous cheer comes from downstairs as Fitzroy lies down in the bed nearest the window and tries to get comfortable, his eyes defocusing but not closing as the sleep trance he usually enters fights to overcome him.<br/>
The cheers and shouts are loud and indistinct, the laughs of content patrons enjoying their final moments before noise curfews kick in. Fitzroy swears he can hear a deep rumble and a lilting accent amongst them, and he smiles softly. They may not have the strongest bond, in his mind, but the Firbolg, Argo and he had been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, and Fitzroy couldn’t help but feel a little closer to them both.<br/>
Especially Argo.<br/>
Fitzroy slips into a shallow sleep, still seeing the blurred outlines of the windowframe, and his ears ring with Argo’s soft voice; memories of when he read to him while he was cursed and dying, comforting to him now in his reminiscent state.<br/>
Maybe we’re stronger than a 7/20, is his last conscious thought. </p><p> </p><p>Argo watches Fitzroy go, and has to stop himself from following the half-elf’s every move. He’s in polite company, and it wouldn’t do to be too obvious around them. Even though Althea had technically been sitting there the whole time while Fitzroy was out the other day, but Argo chooses to ignore that.<br/>
And anyway, reading to him like that was just an act of desperation. What the hell else are you meant to do when your boss is dying like that?<br/>
It was totally a spur of the moment, stupid decision. Running his mouth. He wasn’t thinking.<br/>
Argo senses eyes on him and looks up from his palms, realising he’s been staring at his hands in his lap for the last few minutes at least, lost in thought. Althea and the Firbolg seem concerned, but a few smiles and waves of the hand manage to calm whatever fears they had over him.<br/>
The rest of the night passes with not much thought or sense of time, and before Argo knows it, he’s 9 drinks in, it’s nearing midnight, his head is swimming and the bar is closing.<br/>
Althea has retired already, giving the Firbolg a stern note to make sure Argo was fit by the morning, and the Firbolg takes that in his stead, making a mental note to freshen the genasi up with a spell when they get up. He’s big enough that his alcohol tolerance is massive, and besides, he only had one small drink in the first place. Argo, however, had drunk like a sailor- fitting, perhaps, but worrying to the Firbolg, who could see that maybe Argo wasn’t doing this purely for pleasure.<br/>
Picking his far smaller roommate up and tucking him under his arm, the Firbolg begins his trudge up the stairs to the rooms, squinting to be able to see the numbers on the doors. When he gets to the one Barb had pointed out to him downstairs, he stops and deposits Argo on the grounds, then realises he has no way to get in, and the door is locked.<br/>
“Ar...go,” the Firbolg says as quietly as he can, nudging the other man as he sits and rubs his aching head. “Do you have….the key.”<br/>
“Key? I- no, I didn’t know there was a… a key.”<br/>
“Can you…pick the lock?”<br/>
Argo frowns, trying to find clarity through the strange wobbly filter over his vision. Sure, he was capable of picking the lock as if he knows how to do it, but he doesn’t have complete mental faculties at the moment, nor does he have any of his tools on him. He assumes they’re in his pack. He assumes Fitzroy brought that up to the room earlier.<br/>
He assumes.<br/>
He does have a hairpin, though.<br/>
Argo gets up with effort and jams the hairpin in the lock and jiggles it around fruitlessly for a bit before realising, far too late to avoid embarrassment, that you definitely need more than just one hairpin to pick a lock.<br/>
“Fuck...forgot the fucking. Lever,” he mutters, slumping against the door. “Sorry, Bud, I’m not in th’ best shape right now..ya old pal’s got a bit of a tipsy thing going on.”<br/>
The floorboards above their heads creak, and the Firbolg begins to worry about making too much noise for the other patrons in the rooms above and around them. Sure, he could go back and ask Barb if she has an extra key, but he doesn’t want to bother her more, and he doesn’t want to break anything in her tavern, so he’s left with only one choice.<br/>
Wake Fitzroy up.<br/>
He knocks, as softly as he can with his massive hands, but doesn’t hear a stir from the room.<br/>
“Fitz...roy? Hello Fitzroy…”<br/>
The Firbolg’s soft calls still do nothing to rouse the sleeping CEO. The Firbolg keeps going, and his constant, rhythmic whispers almost rock Argo to sleep as he stands, hand propped against the door, but he shakes himself awake. Maybe he should give it a try too.<br/>
“Fitz!” Argo yells, far too loudly, earning him a steely glare from under the Firbolg’s brow, but he pays it no mind as he hears sheets being thrown aside and dull footsteps approach the door from inside the room.<br/>
Fitzroy throws the door open and Argo almost falls inwards and into his arms, losing his balance momentarily, but the Firbolg shoots an arm out and stops that from happening. Argo is a little annoyed. He would have quite liked to be held by Fitzroy and fall asleep right there. Maybe that was just the alcohol talking, though.<br/>
Fitzroy rubs his eyes and sighs, seeming extremely resigned to having been woken up.<br/>
“Well. took you long enough. You can come in as long as you don’t interrupt me again.”<br/>
“You...are the one who forgot you had the only...key,” the Firbolg points out, slipping past Fitzroy and eschewing all semblance of getting ready for bed, simply picking a clean spot on the floor, lying down and almost immediately passing out.<br/>
Fitzroy is astounded at how quickly the Firbolg was able to go to sleep, and wishes he had the same ability, but knowing now he had been woken up, it was going to be pretty much impossible to go back to sleep on the same level that he had before he was interrupted. </p><p>Argo is still standing in the doorway, looking at Fitzroy.<br/>
He’s able to focus on the barbarian for a little while, and the sight of him in his pyjamas, dirty as they are from the last few days having had to camp overnight, makes Argo’s heart warm. Fitzroy’s hair is sticking up at the back and one leg of his pants is rolled up to his knee, and his face seems soft through the tiredness in his eyes.<br/>
Argo knows how he feels. He has for a while. Even more so now, his eyes trailing over the bandaging that covers Fitzroy’s right shoulder and collarbone, reminded of the brand underneath and how he was so close to death before.<br/>
So close to being lost to him, while Argo was right there watching.<br/>
The pain of the loss of his mother digs into Argo, and his muddied mind spins, connecting the dots on how he could have so easily lost Fitzroy too.<br/>
How he could still, so very easily, lose Fitzroy.<br/>
He could be gone in a blink, and Argo would have to hold his feelings in his heart forever, amplified tenfold by grief.<br/>
He feels liquid inside.<br/>
The words slip out, too easy off his inebriated tongue.<br/>
“Fitz, I love you.” </p><p>Fitzroy looks taken aback briefly, and he leans against the doorframe, taking note of how Argo is swaying, and surmising that the genasi definitely needs to sleep it off.<br/>
“Argo, you’re drunk. Come to bed.”<br/>
He chooses not to process Argo’s confession in any way, but he does take the small flare of heat in his chest at the words and store it in the back of his head for later.<br/>
Taking Argo’s hand in his and supporting his back, he manages to guide the other man to his bed, seeing as Argo seems incapable of doing anything but standing at the moment, and once he’s settled, retreats to his own bed and sits facing the wall.<br/>
He can already hear the Firbolg snoring softly.<br/>
The space between the beds isn't that great, and Fitzroy hears Argo shuffle and lean over to touch him on the shoulder.<br/>
His skin is cool, and slightly wet, but it's a welcome sensation against Fitzroy’s now burning body (whether from embarrassment or pain he couldn’t tell, the rawness of the brand still cutting into him occasionally). Fitzroy lets him leave it there, but he doesn’t turn around.<br/>
“Fitz…...are ya listening t’ me?”<br/>
“I- yeah, I’m listening. I heard.”<br/>
“Good.”<br/>
Behind him, Argo smiles, and finally his head hits the pillow. They would have to face the day tomorrow, and the war, and the demons, but for now, he was simply here, and there was nothing else to feel.<br/>
Fitzroy finally lies down too, and he rolls over to lock eyes with Argo, who holds his gaze for a few seconds before he drifts off to sleep.<br/>
Fitzroy slips into his trance state, all the while seeing his dreams against the backdrop of the room.<br/>
He looks at Argo Keene until morning, and those four slurred words spin in his ears.</p>
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